


Say it Louder

by Charmtion



Series: We are Wolves [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark Sansa, F/M, Jealousy, Political Jon, Possessive Sex, Sexual Content, Thirsty Daenerys, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 01:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18042839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmtion/pseuds/Charmtion
Summary: “By day you have the world at your feet — queen and court and kingdom.” Slowly, she grinds her rhythm; sharp white teeth sink into her lip to watch him master himself. “But by the wax-and-wane of the moon… you aremine, Jon Snow.”Greedy violet eyes in daylight make for a very jealous wolf come nightfall//Sansa is riled by a queen's caresses; Jon bears the brunt of her wrath in bed.





	Say it Louder

It starts as a splinter bare-notched into the skin: a flare of violet eyes toward him as he parries in the bailey, a trail of silver-string fingers the velvet of his sleeve come supper, a breathy word to bid him goodnight.

A splinter — pinprick sharp, swift fading — but soon it changes: a dagger-point, an arrowhead, a battle-axe clattering the crooks of her ribs.

 _Flare_. Dragon’s sun-warm scales searing her throat. _Trail_. Silver blades leaving crimson marks with every twist. _Breathy_. Eyes like bellflowers hooking hers as she whispers: dancing, darting, _daring_.

Silver-and-violet, this queen who keeps warm at _her_ hearth, feasts in _her_ hall, flies on dragon-back the curves of _her_ hills. Silver-and-violet, for true: sharp as swords, deadly as the nightshade that colours those flame-flared eyes.

Yet she forgets, this silver-and-violet queen — forgets she is southron silk amongst northern snow. Reeled-out titles, perfume-dipped courtesies, summerwine-sweet smiles; each means naught to the northmen she keeps court amongst.

Ant-swarm army, wingbeat, wildfire — _they_ mean more than any dance of the light in pretty violet eyes.

A splinter — pinprick sharp, swift fading — carefully plucked out as she watches him turn his back to flame-flared eyes in the bailey, shake off silver-string fingers at supper, nod stiffly as a dragon’s breath brushes his cheek come nightfall.

Silver-and-violet, for true: metal-melt, crushed berries bleeding looks at the lady who sits the rosewood chair opposite her at supper — crimson and ivory, ice-carved smile beneath eyes of sapphire: every inch a queen amongst this court of northern wolves.

 

*

 

“You will break her heart.”

Fingertip running between her shoulder-blades; wild beard brushing a threat against the soft skin of her throat. His chest to her back as he closes the gap between them. Velvet tunic a wine-dark bruise against her skin; she aches to rip the sleeves from his arms, the collar from his neck.

A smile against her throat — feather-light — to feel her want writ plain in the way she melts into his touch. Smoke-dark, his words ash-kisses against her skin.

“If it makes you happy.”

“Why would a queen’s pain make me happy, Jon?”

“Not a queen’s pain — a _dragon’s_ pain.”

Blood-blaze colours her cheeks; she bites her lip as his fingers skate from her ribs to her hipbones. Lazily, he dips between her legs: slow red-warm circles to match the shapes he leaves with his teeth at her throat. Her thighs part wider as he holds her in a soft-cupped palm; tilt-necked, she moans to feel his lips catch at her earlobe.

“Do you think me so petty?”

“No, Sansa.” Her name a red-ripe cherry dripping from his tongue; she shivers to hear him roll it, test it, _taste_ it. “I think you a wolf with bare-dried blood on her teeth — hungry for more.”

“Hungry for her blood — or _yours_?”

“Mmm.” Low deep growl, she feels it _there_ hot as his fingers. “Tonight… mine.”

“Tomorrow, hers — if she keeps looking at you as a lovesick maid in springtime.”

A splinter — pinprick sharp, swift fading — as he sinks his teeth into her throat to muffle his laughter. Fingers wrapped in his hair — a tug on ink-dark curls — and she plucks the splinter out, lays it smooth on its back amongst the bed of bearskins.

Crimson and ivory, ice-carved smile beneath eyes of sapphire: every inch a queen as she slides astride her wolf-eyed northman.

 

*

 

He is a pretty sight trapped just _so_ between her thighs; smoke-dark eyes fixed on hers, ribs billowing beneath his skin like sails to the wind. Gritted teeth: pearl-cut snarl glinting through the coal of his beard. Hard-heaved breath, sword-rough fingers, salt-sweet skin a rasp-rhythm against hers.

Slowly, she lifts her hips.

Slowly, she _sinks_ ; the sails are full now — bursting with the groan that fights from his lungs, explodes from his throat, rattles between his teeth.

Slowly, she settles; the sea that swells beneath the sails — she _rocks_ , rolls, pulls him deeper.

He does not move beneath her, only hisses out a breath. He is rock and mountain under her; hard-packed muscle bristling against his skin, pulse-point flickering at his jaw, fingertips dagger-points leaving white-hot marks the soft flesh of her hips, eyes fixed on hers — smoke-dark, dream-drunk, _desperate_.

“By day you have the world at your feet — queen and court and kingdom.” Slowly, she grinds her rhythm; sharp white teeth sink into her lip to watch him master himself. “But by the wax-and-wane of the moon… you are _mine_ , Jon Snow.”

Blown-wide, his eyes burst like purple flowers in the dark. “Yours.”

“Say it louder.” A grumble to match his growl; her fingertips press down the plump muscles of his chest. “Say. It. Louder.”

“ _Yours_.”

He drinks her kiss like a thirsty man sucking at a stream, garbles a groan to feel her teeth sink — pinprick sharp, swift fading — the swell of his lower lip. Half-crazed hazy eyes as she gives a suck and _pull_ on it to mirror the grip on him she keeps between her legs. Salt-rust, the bead of blood her teeth leave on his lip — a wine-drop clinging to her thumb as she swipes it away.

“Sansa.” Her name a prayer now, a plea blown-wide as his eyes. “ _Sansa_.”

Whisper-soft, her fingers trail the night-cool skin of his throat, wind the hard plains of his warrior’s body, settle on his hand white-knuckled gripping at her hip. Slowly, she lifts it, lays it to her face. Tilt-necked, open to his touch; a shiver in the fire-blush of the bedchamber as he traces the column of her throat.

Gentle-tread as a wolf through forest, he runs his fingers the arrow of her collarbone, the valley between her breasts. Her ribs fill his palm; she twists till an ice-hard nipple skates beneath his thumb. Slink-silent as a wolf closing on a doe, he whispers across its peak, trip-trod, softly, _softly_ — then he pinches down.

A ripple of wolfsong between her lips — a howl, a growl, a whine — as he sits up and soothes the sting away with his mouth. Fingers wrapped in his hair — a tug on ink-dark curls — ripping him from his hard-won prize. Gritted teeth, _gasping_ — his hands clawing for grip of her: one at her nape, the other snake-curled around her hip.

She _lets_ him move her now: slow, deep, full; his teeth graze her chin as she digs her fingertips like arrowheads into his shoulders.

“You will break her heart.” Whisper-soft as her fingers, her breath fills his mouth honey-sweet as her kiss. “You will not break mine.”

Starburst starts in her belly; he chases the fire blooming bright in her blood with ash-kisses the line of her jaw. “Never… your heart is _mine_ , as mine is yours.”

“Say it louder.” Fire-prickles burning every inch of her skin as he moves inside her: slow, deep, full; one more word from his lips and she will _fall_. “Say. It. Louder.”

“ _Yours_.”

 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

>  **NB** : title and initial inkling of idea inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXEj_IZmUKU) beautiful song-cover; it fits our wolves **very** well in this context. This series is fixing to be 10 parts (so much for me being a _reluctant_ Jonsa convert...!) with parentage reveals and battle aftermath forming the remaining 2 one-shots — we shall see! As always, feedback is appreciated. 🐺❤️


End file.
